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by itmeanslife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itmeanslife/pseuds/itmeanslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He might be the one.</p><p>Or, a look into the building relationship of a young couple in college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

The first time she meets him, he runs into a chair, and she thinks it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen. Because he’s all gangly limbs and floppy hair and panicked words, cheeks flushing and smile sheepish and she thinks to herself, _He might be the one._

When she presses herself into his embrace, chest to chest, he smells like Old Spice and toothpaste and sitting in the sun. He’s warm and she feels small for the first time in a long time, since she was a child really, and she smirks because she thinks she’d probably been right.

A few weeks into dating she asks him to spend the night and pretends not to notice when he does odd things like double checks the locks in her dorm, windows included, or casually asks if she has salt then plays it off like he’s just curious. She doesn’t know what the two have to do with each other, salt and locking doors, but she’s pretty sure it has to do with safety, and it’s more than a little endearing.

They get an apartment together, his first and her second (sophomore year she roomed with some friends - they were nice, but loud). They don’t have that much money between them so they set their books up on planks of wood and cinderblocks, and find the rest of their furniture at thrift stores. She tells him it’s unique and hangs her artwork up, abstract and mismatched. He doesn’t say it, but she can tell by the look on his face that it’s home to him, and it’s home to her too.

She does the cooking and he cleans up. Most nights she has the radio on, singing and dancing and grinning like a fool at him from where he watches, shaking his head and pretending to continue studying but tapping his pencil or pen along to the rhythm of the song. On more than one occasion she makes him get up and dance with her, and he’s awkward and doesn’t know how to dance, but they laugh and he twirls her and she kisses him and they forget about the food in the oven. Their dinner is a little burnt, but he doesn’t say anything about it, and the sweetness of wine washes the bitterness of the char away.

On his birthday she bakes him a cake and takes him to the movie theater. He talks about how he never really got to go as a kid, so they see every movie that’s playing that night. She buys the biggest bag of popcorn and the largest drink, and they smuggle candy in their pockets from the dollar store around the corner. When she laughs in the comedies and cries in the dramas, he looks at her like she’s some other species, and he finds her beautiful. They make love that night in every room of their apartment and end up sleeping on the floor in the living room, using the couch cushions as pillows.

He doesn’t talk about his family a lot, but mentions that it’s just him, his brother, and his dad. Any tidbit of information he offers about them, she keeps like treasures, memorizing each detail as if her life depended on it. One day, a Metallica song comes on the radio, and she casually mentions that she bets Dean would like it. He stares at her and doesn’t say anything, but later on that night, she can tell how much it means to him in the way he kisses and holds her.

Thanksgiving is spent with her family, as is Christmas, but New Years they stay in their apartment instead of going out. They watch the ball drop and drink cheap champagne in coffee mugs and she swears his lips feel like feathers against her skin. She prays every New Years will be like this.

The year goes by fast and soon they’ll both receive their BAs, move on to graduate school. She’s excited and nervous and studies harder than ever, hoping that she’ll get good recommendations from her professors. It’s hard on him too, she knows, and he’s tense most nights when they finally go to sleep. The days are long and they don’t get as much time with each other as they used to, but they ensure that at least one day of the week they spend wrapped up in each other, no distractions.

On Halloween she convinces him to go out and she thinks he actually has a good time. He’s excited about his LSAT scores and nervous about his interview, but she buys him shots to soothe away the fear. He kisses her and it makes her feel like flying.

She’s a little worried when he decides to take off with his brother. A piece of her mind nags that he won’t come back, he won’t come back. She knows better, so she makes him promise to make it home in time, doesn’t protest too much as he slides away in the middle of the night. She calls and leaves him voicemails, little updates on how her day is going, how she misses him. She hasn’t been away from him this long in a while, and never under such strange circumstances. She hopes his dad’s okay. She tells him to stay safe. There’s a pit in her throat and a sourness in her stomach.

When she’s trapped against the ceiling, unable to move or scream or cry, the panic ebbs as soon as he walks in the room, flops on the bed. It’s replaced by a feeling of inexplicable joy. All her worrying has been for nothing.

_He’s come home to me._


End file.
